


Hair That Broke the Camel’s Back

by Whatsastory



Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [16]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ian hates his hair, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatsastory/pseuds/Whatsastory
Summary: "C'mon man, those curls are really doing it for me," Mickey grins, running a theatric finger up and down his sternum."My curls? My curls! Are you kidding me? They're stupid. I'm about to just buzz my head."
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668712
Comments: 18
Kudos: 243





	Hair That Broke the Camel’s Back

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t love this. But, I’m struggling to come up with fresh ideas. Help!

It's not often that Mickey gets to see Ian this way; tussled and wild and a bit unkempt. It probably stems from coming from a family that almost always had hot, running water, and Mickey's grown enough now that he isn't so ashamed of his own childhood home life- one where he was often unwashed (both his skin and his clothes. And okay, maybe his teeth, too). The point is, Mickey's no stranger to living without basic amenities. Ian is. 

Ian sits miserably near an open window, hand running through his greasy hair over and over in some vein attempt at smoothing it down. It's not working, and though Mickey isn't exactly up on the lastest beauty trends, he knows that fingers only make your hair nastier. 

"Stop twitching, man," he says from his place on the couch, hands behind his head and everything else sprawled and on display, save for the busted up old pair of boxers on his hips. 

He doesn't care, the house was already hot as shit because these aren't the type of people that care about fixing trivial things like a broken air conditioner, but add in a busted water main down the street, and it only amplifies the sticky effects of summer. 

"I feel gross," Ian whines, and Mickey rolls his eyes. He can only hear this complaint so many times. It's like, dude, come on, it's only been three days. Mickey's gone more than a week (or two... or, shut up), without bathing. Granted he was younger, but feeling grungy is like riding a bike. You get up on two wheels, and by day three you barely feel any grosser than the day before. He doesn't hear Debbie or Carl or even Liam complaining too much. 

"Look gross, too," Mickey says absentmindedly- and maybe being dirty is taking him back to his childhood a little too much, but fuck ever. 

"No, I look like a fucking clown," mumbles sadly, gesturing up to his wild mane of curls. "I can't slick this shit down anymore. It's too dirty. It's just like a slop of gel on top of the old gel. It's heavy. And I hate it!" 

Mickey can't hide his smile. He knows he should probably try to be a little more supportive, but it's not like his hair isn't plastered to his forehead, too. And truth be told, sleeping next to Ian's sweat stain isn't exactly all that appealing. So maybe he's a little on edge. Or, a little more on edge than normal. 

"You've always looked like a fucking clown, though. 'S'how I pick you out in a crowd." 

"Fuck you, Mickey," Ian hisses and shoots a warning glare. Mickey just shrugs. He's not using his fists against his husband anymore. It's called growth. Look it up. 

"I'd be down as long as you don't keep crying about me stinking," he shrugs. 

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen," Ian scoffs and turns back to the scenic view of their busted up street. 

"C'mon man, those curls are really doing it for me," Mickey grins, running a theatric finger up and down his sternum. 

"My curls? My curls! Are you kidding me? They're stupid. I'm about to just buzz my head." 

"Ay," Mickey says, surprising himself at his volume. "Like fuck you are, GI Joe. You touch a hair on that head and I'll put you in the ground." 

"It's my fucking hair, Mickey," Ian says, exasperated. 

"Your hair that I married. I'm not walking around with some skin head."

"Little ironic coming from you, isn't it?" 

Mickey rolls his eyes again and scrubs his hands down his face. This fucking guy is driving him crazy. More so than usual. And that's saying something. 

"I'm gay, I'm not a fucking skin head."

"Those two-" Ian sighs, "you know what? Whatever. This conversation is over. I'm shaving it."

"You're really kind of not, though."

Ian's fast, there's no denying it. He's been a runner his whole fucking life, practically, and while Mickey's no slow little bitch (thank you, multiple run ins with 12), where he really shines is knowing Ian like the back of his hand. Knows everything there is to know about a person. So when Ian stands up and takes off for the stairs, Mickey's already anticipating it and yells from his supine position, 

"You cut yours, I cut mine." 

Ian stops in his tracks two steps up, wavering between being a stubborn jackass and not wanting Mickey to retaliate.

"You wouldn't," Ian says with a glare, but Mickey's eyes are closed smugly, like he knows just his words will halt Ian's plans- bastard. 

"I would. You know I would. If you're a bird, I'm a bird."

"Did you just fucking quote The Notebook at me?" Ian asks incredulously. 

"If you jump, I jump," is Mickey's only response. 

"Titanic? Who the fuck even are you?"

"What's it gonna be, Gallagher? We gonna join the aryans or are we gonna chill the fuck out for like, five minutes and deal with our greasy ass heads?" 

Mickey can hear Ian waffling, taking a step up, then back down. Rinse (or not) and repeat. He can practically hear the wheels in his head spinning, and okay, maybe Mickey's a little nervous that this is the start to a manic episode, but he's not going to focus on that right now. He's going to devote his energy to making sure Ian doesn't jump off the ledge. 

"Look man," he says and finally pops his head up over the back of the couch, "I don't want you to cut it. You do what you wanna do, but I'm serious as fuck when I say that I'm into that brillo pad shit you got going on up there." 

"Really?" 

"Fuck have I ever lied to you?" 

Ian fixes him with a look, the one that screams 'really???', but Mickey waves him off. 

"Recently," Mickey amends. 

Ian chews it over, literally, biting at the insides of his cheeks. Finally he shrugs his shoulders in defeat, and at least has the courtesy to look a little embarrassed by his outburst. 

"Fine," Ian concedes. "I won't cut it. But I'm still gonna bitch about it." 

"Big fucking shocker, there." 

It's later that night, in their sweat stained sheets that Mickey threads his fingers through Ian's cakey ass hair. He doesn't care about the grease. Takes extra care not to tangle up the curls, and Ian smiles and leans into the touch.

The water comes back on the next morning.


End file.
